


What Was Not Said

by an_aphorism



Series: Hush [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bedsharing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Intimacy, Kissing, M/M, Non-Sexual Touching, Romance, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 01:11:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19096687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_aphorism/pseuds/an_aphorism
Summary: Shiro steadies him, hands at his waist. Keith slides his arms up around Shiro’s neck and hooks them there. A song is playing on the video screen as the end credits of the film roll. Keith can’t even remember how it ended.“Dead on your feet there,” Shiro says.One of Keith’s ears are pressed to Shiro’s chest. He can hear the steady rhythm of his heart. They’re swaying to it. Like a dance.





	What Was Not Said

There’s no intent to co-habitate, it just sort of happens. After the war everything is a mess, there’s refugees and wounded, and it’s just easier when Keith lands in the Shiro’s quarters. Neither of them want to fuss when there’s bigger issues at hand.

Anyway the apartment has two rooms so there’s not a crowding issue. In fact, Keith finds it nice after all the time together in space to not to be alone now. Just the idea of going to a silent, empty apartment makes Keith feel shaken, unmoored.

It takes almost three full days to start to wind down when the fighting is finished. War has left them all frazzled, and none more than Shiro and Keith. Neither of them have known quiet peacetime for so long now that they’re stuck in loops of doing.

And there’s no shortage of things that need to get done. For the last three days Keith has thrown himself into the work, avoiding rest and the fear of what will come when he’s no longer running on adrenaline and countdowns.

That is until Shiro snags him just as he comes in the apartment on the fourth day and drags him onto the couch.

“Hey!” Keith yelps as they collapse in a heap.

“Movie night,” Shiro says.

“But—“

Shiro winds himself around Keith like an octopus. He speaks petulantly into Keith’s hair, “Movie. Night.”

Keith rolls his eyes fondly but gives in. “Fine, get off you urchin.”

The other man does, but only tangentially. He keeps at least one arm around Keith’s waist to hold him close. After everything they’ve been through Keith doesn’t mind. He likes having the heat pressed against him, reminding him that Shiro’s here, they both are, and they’re safe. The war is over.

Shiro puts on something, a comedy, and Keith doesn’t have it in him to raise any more protests. He leans into Shiro and tries to embrace the relaxation.

It’s easier considered than done. Space didn’t grant them much down time and it cultivated Keith’s paranoia to an unhealthy degree. The war is over but he still finds himself tensing during the movie, sure that their quiet is about to be shattered. That an alarm will start blazing. That they’ll have to go deal with another life or death matter. 

Every time he locks up the hand wrapped around his waist squeezes. It’s Shiro’s way of quietly reminding him that he’s there. That Keith is safe.

Keith wishes he could get his stupid brain to understand that. It’s nice that Shiro is trying though.

Near the end of the film Keith does begin to wane out of pure exhaustion. He folds into Shiro, his head dipping down onto the other mans shoulder before his alert-brain pings him and he jerks back up. It’s annoying. He wants to give into the warm coziness of their evening, but his brain just won’t shut up.

He does this three times before Shiro sighs. “Bed time,” he says.

Keith makes an unidentifiable noise. He’s foggy now, on the edge of sleep or madness. It feels like a long time since he’s properly slept. The last time was maybe when he was in a coma from Black’s fall.

Grim.

Shiro gets up off the couch and then reaches for his hands. Keith feels like he’s moving in slow motion as he’s pulled into his feet. He almost stumbles into Shiro.

Shiro steadies him, hands at his waist. Keith slides his arms up around Shiro’s neck and hooks them there. A song is playing on the video screen as the end credits of the film roll. Keith can’t even remember how it ended.

“Dead on your feet there,” Shiro says.

One of Keith’s ears is pressed to Shiro’s chest. He can hear the steady rhythm of his heart. They’re swaying to it. Like a dance.

Why are they dancing? Keith can’t remember.

“Hm?” He says.

Shiro laughs, delicate and sweet. “Nothing.”

A hand comes up and pets Keith’s hair. It’s gentle and lovely. When’s the last time anyone touched him with kindness?

Keith mumbles his approval, rubbing his cheek against Shiro’s chest like a cat. It feels just as decadent.

“Hey Keith?” A moment or a millennia later comes Shiro’s whispered voice. Keith’s nearly dozing there in the middle of their living room, so it’s difficult to focus.

“Hm?”

Fingers slide down the back of his head to his neck. It’s a sensation so good Keith nearly shivers. Or maybe he does because the arm around his waist tightens. He tilts his head to get more.

Then there are blunt nails scritching carefully though the bottom of his hair, across his neck. His skin tingles, sensation zipping through him and keeping him just on this side of consciousness.

“Can I?” Shiro’s hand pauses as his neck.

Keith doesn’t know what he’s talking about but he groans meaningfully and tilts his head into the fingers.

They begin to move again and Keith hums. Shiro laughs.

The hand slides down Keith’s back like butter. Keith groans at how good it feels.

He wants more.

But then Shiro is stepping back, his warmth pulling away. “We should get you horizontal.”

Keith blinks his eyes open. When did he close them?

“C'mon.”

Shiro is tugging his hand, but Keith doesn’t understand why he’s not still rubbing his back. He should protest. He will.

But his brain is too slow and Shiro is leading him gently so he goes.

And then they’re in Keith’s room. Keith is helped into bed.  

Keith makes sure to latch onto Shiro’s arm in return, so that when the man tries to tuck Keith in and leave, he can’t.

“Keith,” Shiro’s smiling at him in the hazy low light of the bedroom. He looks so beautiful.

Keith tugs at the hand in his.

“Keith,” this time his name has a shade of scolding.

Keith tugs again.

Shiro sighs and begins derobing. Keith gives him back his hand, noticing then that he’s been de-pantsed as well. When did that happen?

Doesn’t matter, because then Shiro is climbing into bed with him. The lights in the main apartment go off. Now there is just a small, dim light near the bathroom for navigation.

Keith turns into his side to face Shiro. He can barely pick out anything other than the white of Shiro’s hair. It makes him think they’re not close enough. He can barely feel Shiro’s warmth.

He scoots closer. Now that he’s in bed the urge to sleep is receding, and that’s fine. The anxiety and energy doesn’t return. Keith still feels loose and lax. Warm when he bumps knees with Shiro.

The other man sighs when they settle against each other and his hand wraps back around Keith’s waist.

Good.

Keith leads this time by reaching out to touch Shiro’s hair. It’s better than imagined. Fluffy on top to a buzzed fade that feels interesting when Keith runs his hand across it. He does so over and over again. Then he remembers how nice the nails felt on his scalp so he does that too.

Shiro makes a sound of pleasure. The hand on Keith’s spine tightens, begins to travel up and down.

It’s a line of heat that flows everywhere Shiro touches. Soothing rather than burning, Keith runs his fingers down to Shiro’s neck. Imagines himself spreading that same niceness like honey. Thick and sweet.

“Keith,” it’s a whisper.

Keith traces the shell of Shiro’s ear. His eyes are adjusting to the dark now, aided by his own fingers mapping the finer details of the man next to him. He likes this, touching parts of Shiro he hasn’t gotten to pay enough attention to.

He hushes Shiro with a finger to his lips. This isn’t a space for talking.

He can see when Shiro’s eyes flutter. When he decides to let sleeping lions lie.

Shiro’s human hand slides back down tracing the dip of Keith’s waist to his hip. He’s still in boxers and a t-shirt, so it’s not sexual, but something about it makes Keith squirm. The way Shiro’s hand can span him, the rhythmical sliding up and down his body. It’s so alluring.

It’s hard not to get distracted, not to let himself just sink into it. He’s mapping out Shiro’s jaw, his cheeks, but his fingers move slower now. He’s less focused.

Shiro’s nails press in at the base of his spine and drag up.

Keith gasps. Automatically his body curls forward more into Shiro’s, and Shiro welcomes it. Keith presses his mouth to Shiro’s shoulder. It’s bare. He wishes he was also shirtless so he could feel Shiro’s hands on his skin.

The next time the hand travels back down Keith pushes out of the other mans neck.

“Take it off,” he mumbles.

Shiro freezes, tension returning, but Keith is quick to attend to it. He slides both hands up Shiro’s shoulders to massage at the muscles. His fingers scale up and back to Shiro’s hairline. They work to coax him to relaxation.

There’s a sigh of release. Then Shiro is tugging Keith’s shirt up and, with a little clumsy maneuvering, off.

They come back together bare and warm. Keith sneaks an arm under Shiro’s side just to hug him close. Shiro can’t do the same with the bulky metal arm, but the one he has pressing into the middle of Keith’s back is good enough.

It’s strong, solid, possessive in a way that feels right. Like it’s containing him, keeping him where he wants to be.

When Keith’s arm begins to go numb from the weight, he pulls it back. Goes back to tracing Shiro’s features.

This time he goes for Shiro’s back. He’s tucked up in Shiro’s neck, so he does it by feel. Traces the ridges of muscle, the shoulder blades, the uneven skin of his scars.

On his own back, he feels Shiro begin to copy him.

With anyone else it would make him feel self conscious. He’s seen the wounds he’s taken from the war, seen how marred his skin has become.

But this is Shiro. Shiro, who would never judge him, who’s lying here letting Keith trace his own scars.

And there are so many more on Shiro. The man has a years worth in the Galra gladiator ring, plus the war. Keith lets out a hard breath and pushes the thoughts away. If he thinks too much on that right now he’ll break, and it’s not the time for that. This is the time for rest, for healing.

So Keith banishes the thoughts and focuses just on touching each one carefully. He traces the damaged skin and hopes Shiro can feel how much love Keith presses into his skin. How proud he is of everything Shiro’s lived through. How much none of these scars take away from how beautiful he is.

Shiro’s head dips down to Keith’s shoulder and presses a kiss there. _Thank you_ , it seems to say.

Something flutters in Keith’s belly, alive and lovely. He presses a kiss to Shiro’s shoulder in return. _No, thank you_.

Keith works his way across Shiro’s back as Shiro works across his. There’s a lot to cover but Keith never rushes, never skips even the smallest of scars. Every single one is important because it means Shiro lived. Every single one, therefore, deserves love and attention.

They have a conversation like that. Back and forth touching each other’s scars. Sometimes Shiro will linger on one like a question mark, but neither of them speak. It’s enough to just be touching, to be touched. It’s the most intimate thing Keith’s ever done, and he’s glad it’s with Shiro.

 Shiro finishes mapping Keith first and goes back to petting his hair. His thumb draws around to the side of Keiths face as if in inquiry.

Keith tilts his head out of the warmth so Shiro can touch his cheekbone, can edge to the scar across his face.

There’s hesitation then. The tip of his thumb just resting there. Keith opens his eyes to see a frown, Shiro’s eyebrows drawn to displeasure.

They don’t speak, but Keith meets those eyes. Tries to tell Shiro, _it’s not your fault, I don’t blame you, I would have done so much more than this to save you._

It’s maybe not the healthiest, but Keith doesn’t mind that scar. He feels almost fond of it. As if the scar is a symbol of his own love, of his ferocity and dedication to those he loves.

It’s how he feels about the scars on Shiro’s back. They’re gruesome maybe to normal people, but Keith knows what they mean. They were the cost of saving Matt’s life, of staying alive when so many people wanted you dead. They were the cost that Shiro paid so he could come back to Earth, back to Keith.

He hopes some day they can have that conversation. That Shiro will let him paint over the shame and show him that these things don’t have to be ugly. Sometimes they’re what happens when you live, when you grow, when you love people with your whole self.

It’s hard to put all that in a look, but Keith thinks the way the thumb then travels down the scars length means that Shiro at least gets some of it.

Shiro always gets him. Impossible, amazing Shiro. Somehow he’s always been able to see Keith, to know Keith in a way no one else could. In a way no one else even tried to. Keith shuts his eyes against the glossiness of tears. A feeling swells in his chest and then he breathes and pushes it back down. Keith focuses on the careful strokes of Shiro’s thumb to ground him.

He realizes then that his hands have gone idle. His fingers are resting just over the scar at the bottom of Shiro’s spine. It runs right into his shorts, a jagged but thin line.

Shiro would probably let him follow it down, but Keith doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want this to get tangled up with a different kind of heat. He likes where they are, what they’re doing. There’s something unique about the mood and he doesn’t want to change it.

So instead Keith drags his nails up over the side of Shiro’s waist and to his belly. The man huffs and jerks a little, belly pulling in. _Ticklish._

Keith smiles at it. Shiro’s thumb moves to trace the line of his smile, the upward slope of Keith’s cheekbone.

He tries a firmer touch across Shiro’s stomach, leaning back just a little to watch. To track for Shiro trying to cover up his laughter.

Instead he gets a little distracted by the looking, by the act of touching. It’s different doing Shiro’s front, because alongside the scars Keith can also see the flat topography of Shiro’s skin. There’s discoloration and freckles, stretch marks and hair. It’s amazing.

Keith touches each with a reverence, with a careful dedication. He wants to memorize each and every one. Wants to be able to create a spot-on reproduction in his head for every moment he doesn’t have this.

It’s so different, this intimacy. It’s different from the enveloping hugs his mother gives, different from the casual sex he’s had with nameless partners. But exactly how it’s different is hard to put into words.

Keith has never felt this bare. He wonders if Shiro feels the same.

Shiro sifts through his hair and traces the edges of his face as Keith works across his torso. Takes his time just as he did with Shiro’s back.

It takes a long time. A lifetime.

Keith finds that Shiro has a mole on the left side just beneath his rib cage, and there’s trio of freckles on his lower belly that almost make a perfect triangle. He finds that Shiro’s chest has a smattering of hair in mismatching directions and stripes of stretch marks across the edges of his pectorals. Keith wonders if they’re from the gladiator training.

There is almost no part of him without some interesting detail. No part without a flaw that Keith intensely adores.

When he eventually works his way up to Shiro’s clavicles, he touches the space where he left a kiss earlier. He feels Shiro’s fingers dip down to his neck to do the same.

Keith meets Shiro’s eyes then for the first time in a while. They’re soft, lucid, but relaxed. Keith smiles and Shiro returns it.

And then Keith can’t help himself, he shuffles up to make them level. Their foreheads come together naturally and Shiro makes a sound of happiness that Keith copies.

He feels so full of it, this warm and satisfaction. It’s calm but fluttery, it makes him want to just curl into Shiro until somehow they become one.

Keith touches his cheek, the outer edge of his eyelashes, and the strong edge of his jaw. Shiro breathes heavy and shifts just millimeters. Their noses brush.

There’s a sweet, amused sound from Shiro, and then a more purposeful nuzzling.

Keith hums happily and nuzzles back.

Shiro’s nails scrape on Keith’s nape, as if to pull him in, but there’s almost no more room left to go. The air between them is growing hot with their breathing, but neither of them pull away. Keith grips the back of Shiro’s neck and mimics the scraping-almost-pull.

They both make gusty sounds. Shiro presses his nose into Keith’s cheek. A barely-there kiss pressed into Keith’s skin.

They linger in it, caressing and almost-pulling. Their noses bump and they smile into one another. They’re so close it’s dizzying. Keith closes his eyes.

The darkness lends him bravery. He kisses Shiro’s cheek in return. It’s stubbly and warm. Almost too easily done.

Shiro kisses his jaw, tiny peppery ones that tingle. Kisses that move inward, that ask a question Keith can’t help hearing in the silent room.

He answers it by tilting toward them, by kissing the corner of Shiro’s mouth.

The hand in his hair tightens and this time it does pull. Their lips brush and then touch.

 It’s soft, dry.

They come apart and do it again.

Keith’s gone tingly all over, so he’s glad Shiro is holding him tight. He grips the back of Shiro’s neck just as tightly.

They’re slow and careful kisses. They come measured between heartbeats, each one checking to see if the next is welcome.

Keith sighs at the feeling of them. He can’t help how his lips tilt at the corners into a small smile.

Shiro kisses it from edge to edge.  

When he finishes Keith pulls back just so he can open his eyes. Shiro is staring back at him, painfully fond. It’s as if his whole heart is there on his face for Keith to see.

Keith touches the creases at the corner of Shiro’s eyes, then the scar across his nose. Shiro’s eyes flutter shut and then reopen. Keith knows how he feels, because he too doesn’t want to miss a moment.

His fingers wander down of their own accord. Keith makes quick study of the slope of Shiro’s nose and then to the perfect bow of his upper lip.

They come together again for a series of gentle kisses. Keith strokes across his cheek, holds him steady.

It’s almost a shock when Shiro opens his mouth. There’s sudden wetness and heat. Keith’s helpless in front of it. He opens his mouth, kissing Shiro back with everything he has.

Somehow it stays slow. Shiro’s still on his wavelength, keeping it just on this side of tender.   

It does things to Keith. Something much more devastating than just a hookup or a filthy make-out session. The way that Shiro licks his top lip before sliding their mouths together to kiss him deep just pulls Keith apart. He can feel the love that Shiro moves with, the way his every choice comes careful. As if he knows just how serious this is and means to take it as such.

Keith can’t help the needy sound that falls from his mouth. The way both his hands clutch at Shiro and tug with the need for _more._

It’s a nameless more until a moment later when Shiro pushes him onto his back. He kisses Keith again, rolling on top of him, propping himself up on his forearms.

When Shiro pulls back to breathe, it’s of little consolation. Keith feels suddenly _surrounded._ The dangerous feeling from earlier swells again. This time Keith thinks he has a better understanding of what it is.

Because trapped beneath Shiro’s weight, boxed in as the man continues to card through his hair, Keith has never felt so protected. Has never felt so safe.

Anything in the whole of the universe could come through the door in the next five seconds, and Keith knows they could handle it. They have handled it.

It would be foolish after all they’ve been through not to give this man his unguarded heart. If there was anyone who deserved it, it was Shiro.

And for Shiro, he can be soft. He can be vulnerable.

The revelation almost brings him back to tears. He can’t believe after the war, the loss, that he could still have something like this. That he could be as scarred and battle-hardened as he is, and still have this secret little pocket of softness.

 Shiro bends down and kisses the corner of his cheek as if to say, _don’t cry baby._

Keith blushes hot, a little shy. He catches Shiro’s mouth before it can retreat and peppers on half a dozen more kisses. He can’t explain how much this means to him, so he tries with action. With one soft kiss after another, pulling Shiro into him until he could swear they’ve just become one.

When they’re forced to breathe, Shiro props himself back up above Keith. They look at each other adoringly. Shiro goes back to carding through his hair as if he can’t stop. It feels wonderful so Keith does nothing to stop him.

“Keith,” Shiro speaks finally after a minute, an hour, a year. The smile around the shape of his name is heart-wrenching.

 Keith hums in response, still too spellbound for words.

Shiro traces down his nose and then to his lips. He gets distracted there for a moment, but then his eyes flicker back up to Keith’s.

There’s a confession there. It’s in the so-soft way that Shiro suddenly cups his face, in how he double and triple blinks, swallows around the emotion.

Their chests both rise and fall heavy against one another. There’s a sweetness between them, almost better without the language to try and shape or contain it.

Keith lays a hand on Shiro’s chest just over his heart, and then pulls the hand from his lips down to press over his own heart.

 _Mine is yours_ , he tries to say, _and yours is mine._

Shiro smiles with his whole face and then kisses Keith’s cheek. Keith feels the hot flush everywhere, the burst of something too gooey for anywhere but here.

He’s infinitely glad it is here, it is now, it is with him. _Shiro._

They trade more kisses and touches back and forth. Keith can feel himself starting to wind down, the exhaustion of the day creeping back into the room. He can tell Shiro is feeling the same when the kisses trail off to nuzzling.

Before they can drop off, Keith nudges Shiro off of him. As much as he _aches_ to stay beneath Shiro, it’s not a feasible sleeping position for either of them.

He is quick, however, to roll over and snuggle back into Shiro’s waiting arms.

They wrap tight and secure around Keith, adjusting the comforter so it cocoons around them but they’re skin to skin. Keith sighs at the kiss on the back of his neck.

“Sweet dreams,” Shiro whispers into his nape.

Keith tugs the human hand up so he can kiss the fingertips and then curl his arms around it. The mechanical arm gives Keith a gentle squeeze.

“Sweet dreams,” Keith says. He gets another kiss, just at the edge of his hair.

He’s warm and safe, tucked into Shiro’s chest.

Falling asleep like that is easy and blissful. Keith’s never been more certain he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

**Author's Note:**

> I just needed to write something really soft and tender and healing.
> 
> ✧*:･ﾟ✧ happy pride ✧*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> twitter @an_aphorism


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